


Unfortunate Living Arrangements

by Xavantina



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU: Chilton is hiding out at Will's place, Anal Sex, And now so is Freddie, F/M, Femdom, Fred Squared + Will, Freddie Lounds tops everyone because that’s just how she rolls, It's quite fluffy at times actually believe it or not, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Threesome - F/M/M, Will blames Hannibal for all of this, Will is surrounded by arrogant obnoxious egotistic assholes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 21:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1998261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xavantina/pseuds/Xavantina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Will Graham’s house is suddenly invaded by more than one Fred, and both of them are equally annoying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfortunate Living Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Not canon-compliant at all, so beware if you like that sort of thing.

By the time Will gets her to the front door, Freddie has calmed down considerably. Her pupils are still blown wide and she hasn't stopped shaking yet (to be fair she is completely covered in snow after their brief struggle on the ground by her car), but she is regaining control over her breathing and she no longer looks ready to bolt at any perceived threat.

She flinches when all of the dogs run out to greet them, milling around her legs and sniffing her bag. She already emptied her car out: several smart phones, an array of recording devices, one of her smaller laptops, her tablet and a surprising amount of make-up. Will is carrying half and Freddie uses her laptop as a shield to try to shoo away the dogs. It's not very effective.

As soon as Will closes the door behind him, he calls out; "You can come down now, Frederick!"

Freddie, who had been taking in the state of Will's living room, spins in a perfect circle until she spots the hallway door and by extension the stairs. When Chilton comes limping down, her eyes grow even wider.

Chilton gives Will a sardonic little smirk. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d accuse you of collecting us like stray dogs, Will.”

Will adds just as much wailed hostility to his own smile. “Trust me. If I thought there was the slightest chance you could get through this alive on your own, I’d be happy to throw you out in a heartbeat.”

“Always the savior,” Chilton mutters, rolling his eyes. Will catches Freddie smiling in agreement.

“I’ll put your car in the barn with Dr. Chilton’s. Help yourself to some whisky.”

Chilton snorts. “Oh yes, please do. It’s a very... fine vintage he’s got now. It was a _present_.”

Will glares at him. Freddie looks like she is dying to know everything about everything.

When Will leaves to move her car, he realizes that while he can definitely fend off Freddie’s constant barrage of questions, Chilton most definitely will not. He’ll tell her everything and he will love every second of it. Will sighs. Hannibal is going to pay for all of this.

***

He enters through the kitchen to overhear this conversation:

“What do you mean he doesn’t have Wi-Fi?!”

“He doesn’t have Wi-Fi.”

“How can he _not_ have Wi-Fi?!”

The eye roll is almost audible. “He doesn’t own a laptop, Miss Lounds. He doesn’t even have a television.”

A brief pause, then with even more desperation, “How does anybody _live_ like this? How have _you_ been living like this?”

Chilton sighs heavily. “By adapting, Miss Lounds. I think you will find that although it is hard at first, the human spirit can suffer through worse than a lack of Wi-Fi and still prevail in the end. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Freddie doesn’t say anything, but Will can hear her emptying her glass. “This is some damn fine stuff. I didn’t think Graham would have this sort of thing.”

The answering laugh is as dry as sandpaper. “I already told you it was a present, didn’t I?”

Judging by Freddie’s hum, something in Chilton’s expression has promised further information at a later time.

***

“I need to know whether I should call off Jack Crawford.”

Will tilts his head at her. “What would you tell him? ‘April Fool’s, forgot it was still February’?”

Freddie gives him a thoroughly derisive glare. The whisky Chilton has poured her several glasses of so far is only fuelling her confidence. “I’ll tell him somebody attacked me, but I got away.”

“And why did you call him and not 911?”

“I panicked.”

“They’ll be able to trace the call you made to Wolf Trap, that’s for certain. If you turn your phone on now to call Jack, they’ll know the exact location within seconds.”

Freddie leans forward. “Are you honestly telling me that you will be able to convince Jack Crawford that you had nothing to do with this? With me disappearing near your house, the last sign of life being my screams on Jack’s phone? I filled up on gas on the way, you know, less than ten miles from here.”

Will shrugs. “I’ve been giving interviews to you. My house is remote. Anybody could have taken you out here, without my knowledge.”

This doesn’t seem to impress Freddie as all. “He won’t buy that.”

“That might be the case,” Will agrees, “Under normal circumstances. But his lingering guilt from not believing in my innocence on the Copycat murders will cloud his judgment. It already has, on other occasions.”

Freddie is visibly torn between going for the last admission and staying on point. Will cuts off her line of thinking.

“Hannibal needs to think that I killed you. He needs to think that I’m bringing your flesh to his dinner table. You need to be dead.”

She accepts the logic of his plan, which is a marvel on its own. “Fine. Good luck with Jack then.”

“Thank you.”

***

Jack accepts his explanation, which is damn near amazing. Hannibal accepts his gift of ‘frightened long pig’, which was predictable. Will comes home to find Chilton passed out with an empty tumbler in his hand and Freddie typing away on her laptop, fingers moving at lightning speed despite her flushed cheeks, glossy eyes, and the empty whisky bottle on the floor in front of her.

“I’m writing down everything,” she tells him. She’s so focused she has accidentally allowed Buster onto her lap, despite having complained about dog hairs a few hours earlier.

(“You’ll get used to it,” Chilton had said, true defeat in his voice. “There’s no escaping it.”)

“It’ll make a thrilling tale one day, I’m sure.”

Freddie turns to look at him, her eyes deadly serious. “It’s going to be a best-seller.”

Will can’t help but smile at her resilience. Trust Freddie Lounds to turn a horrible situation into a potential success story.

***

Freddie has spread out the clothes Will bought her on Will’s bed and is staring at them, hands on her hips. “Really, Mr. Graham?”

“A little gratitude would be nice,” Will grumbles.

She rolls her eyes. “Why on earth couldn’t you just go back to my motel room and get me my own clothes?”

“Because while Dr. Lecter is no longer hanging around the place in his murder suit, I can’t be seen going into the motel room of a woman I am suspected of killing.”

“Murder suit?” Freddie asks, one perfect eyebrow arched.

“He has a plastic suit he wears over his clothes, for murder purposes,” Chilton explains, walking over to join them. “I’ve seen it first-hand. It looks quite ridiculous.”

Will lets out a little huff of laughter. At least Chilton is starting to make jokes about the whole thing. It’s a step up from the frequent panic attacks, nightmares, and a daily, heavy alcohol intake.

“None of that changes the fact that this,” she gestures at the clothes, “is not my style.”

“It’s your size, and you’ll live with it,” Will says. “It’s not like there’s anyone around to witness the horrible decline in your fashion sense.”

“It’s not _that_ horrible,” Chilton says before Freddie has a chance to retort. “That dress is flattering, isn’t it? Looks like something Dr. Bloom would wear.”

Realization shows on Freddie’s face and Will decides to make a run for it, turning to leave.

“It does. And these...” - look like things Will has seen Abigail wear. Freddie stops talking, reaches out and puts a hand on Will’s arm just as he thought he had gotten away. “I’m sorry, Will.”

Will spares her a glance. “I’m not exactly an expert on women’s clothing.”

“I can tell, but... I’ll manage.”

By the bed, Chilton has picked up a small black bag that hasn’t been emptied. He peeks into it and smiles. “Well the underwear is nice,” he says, reaching down and pulling out a pair of black lace panties. “Did you pick these yourself?”

Freddie snatches the bag out of his hand in a motion so quick Will barely catches it. “Hands off, Dr. Chilton.” A wicked little smile appears on her lips. “Did you, Mr. Graham?”

Will is not blushing. He is not going to let them see him blush over something as silly as ladies underwear. “I told the girl at the store I wanted some things for my girlfriend. She was happy to help.”

“Awww,” Freddie pouts, feigning disappointment. “Here I was hoping we had found another side to the elusive Will Graham.”

“Sorry to let you down, Miss Lounds.” This time no one stops him when he walks away.

From the kitchen he hears Freddie’s voice. “If you ever touch my underwear again, I’ll cut off your hands, Dr. Chilton.”

“If you insist.”

***

They gang up on him almost instantly. Chilton has obviously been holding back on his complaints about their living situation (imagine that for a second), but with Freddie here, he feels confident enough to air some more grievances.

The lack of ways to communicate with the outside world (“you wouldn’t be in a position to communicate with the outside world anyway, you’re supposed to be dead or missing”.)

The lack of entertainment. (“I’m not buying a TV for you, if that’s what you think. Read a book.”)

The lack of interesting books. (“Tell me what you want, I’ll fucking buy it for you, Frederick.” Chilton looks insulted at the scorn in Will’s voice. Good.)

Dogs. All things related to dogs. Smell. Hair. Noises. Everything. (“If you don’t respect my dogs you can sleep in the barn”.)

Their faces in response to the last one are quite priceless, and Will savors the sight for days.

In the end, Freddie buries herself in work, and whenever she takes a break from it, Chilton uses her laptop to play whatever silly off-line games he finds on there for as long as she will allow it. Apparently the mere fact that he gets to touch a computer for a while calms him down, despite the limited entertainment on it.

Will can’t for the life of him figure out how people get like that.

***

The food situation actually improves with Freddie in the house. She has been a vegetarian since she was a teenager, so unlike Chilton, she is already well-versed in cooking without meat. Removing animal proteins all together doesn’t seem to be a problem for her either.

While Chilton can make passable salads, his attempts at actually cooking something have been more or less disastrous, which is why Will is only cautiously optimistic when Freddie presents them with a plateful of some sort of spring rolls stuffed with lettuce, tofu and mushrooms, along with a creamy soup that smells like garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, and coconut.

As it turns out, Freddie could give Hannibal a run for his money in the cooking department if she tried. They empty the pot and finish off the mountain of rolls in record time while she smiles with impenitent smugness.

Apparently you can cook just about anything with tofu and soy products. And while it is annoying that Will has to spend twice as long at the grocery story to find all the obscure things she puts on the shopping list, it’s nice to finally have someone competent feeding them.

He won’t tell her this. Obviously.

***

Freddie waits almost a four days before she interviews Chilton. They sit at the dining room table, a tape recorder between them, while Will hides away in the living room with a boat motor he has been meaning to work on (yes, he will never use them, but he has a heap of them, and taking them apart, oiling them, and putting them back together is his private form of therapy). He can hear the two of them clearly.

He has to hand it to her: Freddie can be a very, very good interviewer. During four days of close contact she has managed to narrow down Chilton’s personality perfectly and she knows exactly how to play him; appealing to his vanity, straying into critical questions one at a time, and then moving on to something safer. Chilton is obviously in his element, having his ego tenderly stroked and getting to go on and on about the incompetence of everyone involved in this mess. Will hasn’t heard him sound like this since his first visit to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

It’s almost comforting to have him return to form.

***

On Day Six things go south when, during a conversation on Chilton’s favorite subject – how ridiculous it is that the FBI would accuse him of being a cannibalistic serial killer - Freddie choses to agree by mentioning how she has interviewed some of his fellow students from med school, telling him what they said about Chilton’s lack of surgical skills and how he was forced to flee to psychiatry to avoid embarrassment.

Chilton is so furious that he actually leaves the house, after delivering a few indignant curses, pacing back and forth on the porch until the lack of cane makes his limp too bad for him to continue. Then he sits down on one of the snow-covered chairs out there, happy to sulk for as long as it takes.

Will is trying off a lure, keeping a close eye on Chilton at the same time. Around the 15 minute mark, he speaks, loud enough for Freddie to hear despite her sitting in the dining room in front of her laptop; “He’s going to catch a cold out there. Can you imagine how insufferable he’ll be with a fever and a cough?”

Freddie snorts, the clicking on the keyboard not letting up. “It’s not my fault he was a terrible surgeon. Those are the facts.”

“Deliberately reminding people of their personal failures is considered rude in most civilized societies.”

The clicking stops. “Are you seriously asking me to go apologize to him?”

Will turns his head to look at her: she’s wearing an expression of complete outrage. Will sighs. “No, I’m not. I’m asking you to say whatever you need to say to make him come back inside. I’m sure someone with your considerable verbal skills can manage that without giving an outright apology.” Make it sound like a challenge - that will work.

She considers it for a few seconds, then nods once and gets up.

“Thank you,” Will says as she passes by him.

“Fuck off,” is Freddie’s polite reply.

She leaves the actual door open a smidgen, and while the screen door slams shut, Will can still hear them when Freddie sits down across from Chilton, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the cold.

“I bet your parents really wanted you to be a doctor,” she begins.

Will leans back in his chair to peek outside. Chilton is glaring at her, but eventually he answers her anyway, grumbling, “Yes.”

Freddie hums and nods. “Yeah. Parents have an infinite capacity for nastiness, thinly disguised as well-meant encouragement. Mine were horrible. They’re both academics. I showed promise in the field of writing when I was very young, so my mother wanted me to be a writer. You know, spectacular bestselling novels, modern classics, the next _Catcher in the Rye_. My father wanted me to be a journalist.” She sneers. “A ‘ _proper_ journalist’, working at the New York Times or the Washington Post.”

Chilton watches her with cautions interest, like he can’t figure out if she’s telling him these very personal things just to mess with him.

“Becoming a crime blogger... Yeah, that wasn’t exactly what they’d had in mind. They still haven’t forgiven me. I’m the proverbial the black sheep of the entire extended family. My father called me a ‘genuine disappointment’ once. I’m ‘squandering my gifts’ as they like to put it.” She lets out a small, humorless laugh. “Even if I successfully publish a book about this whole mess, even if it’s on all the best-seller lists for months, even if people in the FBI are justly fired for their incompetence, based on what I know... It still won’t be enough, because it won’t be what they expected from me.”

She waits. Freddie is good at waiting for people to talk in their own time.

By the time he finally speaks, Chilton has brushed a considerable amount of snow off nearby surfaces as a way of stalling. “Mine were... they really wanted a doctor in the family. It’s a... pride thing.” He pauses again. “My mother refused to talk to me for three months after I told her I’d made the switch to psychiatry.” He adopts a more high pinched tone, “Being a ‘head doctor’ is not the same as being a _real doctor_.”

Freddie goes for it: she reaches out and covers Chilton’s hand with her own. “Your parents are wrong. So are mine. Parents are assholes.”

Chilton smiles faintly and doesn’t draw away from her touch. “They are.”

“How about we drink to that? I’m sure there’s some sub-par whisky left in there somewhere.”

And that’s how she manages to get him back inside without an apology. Will is quietly impressed and doesn’t comment when they empty the last bottle of whisky. He’ll buy some more tomorrow.

***

He is lounging in an armchair, quietly enjoying the newly purchased whisky (it’s actually a good one, they deserve it, all of them), when Freddie comes marching in with a tape recorder in one hand, dragging a dining room chair behind her with the other. She places it directly in front of Will, way too close for his liking, and sits down.

“You’re going to talk to me.”

Will shakes his head, smiling slightly into his glass. “I’m not going to talk to you, Freddie. Once this is over, then yes, maybe I will.”

“You’re going to talk to me _now_ ,” she repeats, slamming the recorder down on the desk next to Will’s chair, causing his fly tying materials to jump about. She seems to realize that she is coming on a bit strong, so she continues in a soft voice. “I need you to give me something, Will. I can’t stand this anymore. Just... can you just tell me what really happened to Abigail?”

Will focuses his eyes somewhere to the left of her ear, as he nearly always does. “Freddie, I don’t want to-...”

Freddie interrupts him, “-talk about it, yes I sort of picked up on that. But you do know what happened, don’t you? At least partially? I need to know, Will. I cared about her too. _Please_.”

He finds it in himself to look her in the eye. He immediately regrets the decision; she means it. She did care. But then he already knew that, didn’t he? Will sighs, drown the content of his glass and puts it on the desk. Then he picks up her tape recorder, turns it off and hands it to her.

Her face falls and she is almost out of her seat when Will stops her.

“I’ll tell you. You, Freddie. Not your tape recorder.”

Freddie hesitates, pockets the recorder and sits back down. “Okay.”

She doesn’t say a single word while Will tells her everything he knows. When he’s done she leans forward, reaches out and covers Will’s hand with her own, just like she did with Chilton, squeezing it gently. Her eyes are a bit moist, and the gratitude in them is making Will feel sick.

“Thank you.”

***

The next bout of arguing between them happens when Freddie is moaning about not being able to update her blog with all she now knows about Hannibal Lecter. It’s clear that the fact that she has to wait for who knows how long before she can share this information is incredibly frustrating.

And that’s when Chilton chips in, with a dry laugh. “Right. I hope you realize that without any actual proof, if you were to put forward these kinds of allegations, you’d be looking at libel suit number seven, and I don’t think Doctor Lecter is going to be willing to settle like all the rest of them were.”

The libel suits must be a bit of a touchy subject, because Freddie snaps her computer shut and glares daggers in Chilton’s direction.

“I don’t suppose we should talk about your malpractice suits, should we? The non-Gideon related ones, I mean.”

Will had been trying to read, but now he can’t help looking up to observe the dispute like a very unwilling spectator at a horrible tennis match.

Chilton’s face has hardened in an instant and his cheeks turn red just as fast. “None of those cases ever made it to court,” he scoffs.

“Oh, excuse me,” Freddie says, smiling cruelly. “Would you prefer to just call them allegations then?”

“There was nothing to them. That’s why they never ended up in court; I never had to settle to avoid that!”

The dogs are starting to leave the room, disturbed by the tension and now the shouting.

Will speaks in spite of knowing better, stupidly inserting himself into the oncoming train wreck, “You’ve been sued for malpractice?” he asks Chilton. “I didn’t know that.”

Chilton is transferring a considerable amount of his anger onto Will now. That’s just great. “They were dismissed,” he snaps, “And there were two of them.”

“Three,” Freddie promptly corrects him. “And yes, the suits were dismissed, but let’s face it: when an inmate sues the prison he lives in the case almost never makes it to court. When that inmate is living in a mental institution for the criminally insane? _No one_ is going to take them seriously.”

“Because they’re insane,” Chilton fires back. “Why are _you_ taking them seriously?”

Freddie straightens and gives him a look, “Because everyone deserves to have someone who is willing to fight on their side, even if they’re insane criminals.” She is obviously pleased with the moral high ground she just claimed. Or tried to claim anyway.

Will snorts. Loudly. He doesn’t actually say anything, but Chilton has already started smirking as well.

“Unless they’re Will Graham, of course.” He smiles. “But other than that, you’re a real humanitarian. You really care for other people, don’t you?”

Freddie huffs, picks up her laptop and starts to walk out of the room. When she passes Chilton she stops briefly. “You of all people should know that I do.” And then she’s gone.

They sit in silence, Will noting how Chilton’s face has gone a bit pale and has lost all traces of both amusement and anger. He’s just... fearful now. He breathing is a bit irregular, and soon enough he switches to same breathing exercise that Will was always told to use during panic attacks, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth, trying to keep them long and steady but not quite succeeding. The longer it goes on less control Chilton seems to have over the situation, so Will gets out of his seat and walks over there.

He kneels in front of Chilton and puts a hand on his knee. “Hey.”

The other man jumps, apparently too focused on whatever is going on in his head to notice Will. He stops breathing altogether, staring at Will’s face. Now that he is close and touching, Will can feel Chilton trembling.

Keeping eye contact is hard, yes, but coaxing Chilton out of a panic attack without looking him in the eye will be even harder.

“You need to count. Otherwise you’ll lose track and it won’t be as effective. Five seconds inhale, hold it three second, six seconds exhale, all right?”

Chilton doesn’t respond. He’s staring at him like he can’t figure out why Will is trying to help him, and to be honest Will isn’t sure either, but it’s something that’s happening either way. When Will starts counting, Chilton eventually falls into the rhythm. Without even meaning to Will ends up breathing along with him rather than counting, keeping a close eye on Chilton’s face all the while. After a couple of minutes he seems better, so Will stands up. Some of the dogs have returned and Winston seems especially interested in figuring out what’s wrong, padding over and resting his head on Chilton’s thigh. Chilton scratches him behind the ears, smiling distantly. Winston is the only dog whose name he has managed to learn.

“Did you ever talk about it? The two of you?”

“Talk about what?” Chilton asks, eyes focused entirely on Winston. Either he is really distracted by all the petting he has to do or he is playing dumb. It’s probably the latter.

“What happened with Dr. Gideon.”

“Oh. _That_.”

Will lets the pause drag on for quite a while. “Yes. _That_. The incredibly traumatic experience you shared.”

“I don’t recall her being cut open,” Chilton says lightly, drawing out the ‘I’. “And I don’t recall telling you that this is something I want to talk about.”

“Well I recall reading in the report that she stood there even after Gideon had fled, pumping air into your lungs, keeping you alive. She didn’t run. She could have, easily. You didn’t exactly look like you were gonna make it, if Jack’s descriptions are to be believed.” He waits to see if Chilton will panic again. He doesn’t. “She must have been terrified. All that time she spent with Gideon, afraid that he might kill her at any moment. But she stayed with you. She saved your life. Did you ever thank her?”

Chilton looks up at him, his face twisted into an indignant sneer. “Of course I thanked her.” He averts his eyes once more. “I sent her flowers. And a card.”

Will can’t help himself; he laughs. Even when Chilton glares at him, he can’t stop. “Flowers. And a card. You are something else, Frederick.”

“She came to visit me at the hospital, once, before I woke up from the surgery. She brought me flowers. I thought it... suitable to return the gesture.”

Shaking his head, Will turns and walks back to his chair and his book. “Under normal circumstances there should probably have been some therapy involved in that story.”

“I’m a psychiatrist, I know when I need therapy,” Chilton replies.

“I thought it was important for psychiatrists not to treat themselves, seeing as you can’t be objective about a patient when that patient is you.”

Chilton narrows his eyes at him, “And this is something Dr. Lecter told you?”

Will has to smile at that, shrugging his shoulders. “Just because he’s a cannibalistic serial killer doesn’t mean he can’t be right about some things.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind,” Chilton says, and that’s the end of that conversation.

***

If only their sleeping arrangements weren’t a constant source of dispute. One guest room, one ratty couch in the storage room across from it: constant fights about whether Chilton’s injuries trump Freddie’s ‘rights to privacy, as a woman.’

Will decides not to get involved. Neither of them would ever consider sleeping in the living room with the dogs anyway.

***

And then one day Will finds himself getting what he wanted and getting the opposite of what he wanted at the same time.

Will gets to sit in the living room and debate whether loud humming or simply covering his ears will be the best way to drown out the sounds coming from upstairs.

This is ridiculous. These are his ‘guests’, why is he the one curled up in an armchair trying to ignore what’s going on just above him?

Will won’t deny the fact that he had previously assumed Chilton didn’t get laid much, being the insufferable asshole that he is. The obvious conclusion that followed was that Chilton’s inexperience would mean that he wasn’t the ideal lover.

Well apparently Will was wrong about that.

There is no way in hell that Freddie Lounds would ever fake an orgasm. Certainly not several of them. Not when there is nothing to be gained from it. She would never soothe a man’s ego in that way, she loves herself too much. No, Freddie is the type who would voice her displeasure just as loudly as her voices her pleasure. Which is loudly.

And this is why Will is currently debating whether he should stop by Hannibal’s house for one of his ‘unannounced’ visits, just to get out of the house. If his counting is accurate (and it usually is), Freddie is well on her way towards orgasm number three at this point, and who knows when they’re gonna stop.

(Perhaps Will underestimated Chilton. Specifically, Chilton’s desire to boost his own ego by pleasing his sexual partners.)

At least they’ve moved on to penetration now (the bed is squeaking, that’s new – it also means Freddie’s initial orgasms was induced by ways of fingers and tongue – Will shivers. He does not need to know this), so there’s a chance they will be done soon.

When he listens properly he can hear Freddie’s breathless words of encouragement (“Fuck, yes, right there, harder, damn it _harder_ ”) and Chilton’s answering curses (“You’re fucking _insatiable_ , woman, what do you - _oh god_ you can’t just put your finger - oh fuck don’t stop, _don’t stop_ ”)

Imagining what’s going on up there is causing... problems. So Will decides to take a walk outside with the dogs. The cool air is very helpful, and when he returns his guests are blissfully silent.

***

They don’t even have the decency to be ashamed.

Granted, Will’s views on this issue may be what people consider ‘conservative’ (not because he is conservative, but because people who are 100% open about all the crazy sex they’re having make him a bit uncomfortable).

But The Freds (he doesn’t call them that to their faces) seem more than happy to go from ‘snarky partners in crime who occasionally are at each other’s throats’ to ‘fuck buddies with no sense of personal space’ over the course of two days.

They fuck several times a day. How? Will has no idea. When they’re not fucking, they are lounging about on the couch - Chilton reading and Freddie typing away on her laptop – always touching.

Will never thought much about Chilton’s personal life, whether he had a partner (all right, Will was almost sure that no one could put up with someone as infuriating as Chilton), or whether he was, well, alone. Or lonely. Will has never had any problems with being alone - he prefers it most of the time. But from the way Chilton is acting now, he must have been lonely. Every slight touch and caress, every gently kiss on the cheek, they all provoke the same look of utter pleasure and wonder. And Freddie sees it of course, but she doesn’t mock him, she just allows him the physical contact that he obviously craved. He must have been unbelievably touch-starved before this happened.

Three days into this spectacle Freddie corners him when he is on his way out grocery shopping and tells him that the bedroom drawer upstairs is out of condoms now. Oh, and if he’d get some XL ones, that would be great.

Will wants to kick both of them out into the snowy wilderness right then and there, but in his surprise he only nods.

Freddie grins and pats his shoulder. “Brilliant. Thanks.”

***

To be honest, he’s amazed they don’t both call each other ‘Freddy’ in bed, just to get their blatant narcissism out in the open.

(Chilton calls her ‘Freddie’, she calls him ‘Frederick’, apart from when she occasionally calls him ‘Dr. Chilton’ in a really dirty voice. Will likes to pretend that he doesn’t hear those times.)

***

The worst part of it is that Will only notices what they’re up to when Chilton randomly, awkwardly, touches his hand while passing him a bowl of salad. He looks up and Chilton blushes, breaking eye contact even faster than Will normally does it.

And then it occurs to him that Freddie has been brushing up against him a lot lately, and although he wrote it off as random slips, she might just have been going about things more subtly than Chilton is managing to do it. Oh god, she touched his bum yesterday when he exited the bathroom after showering (wearing only a towel) and claimed it was an accident. He had forgotten about that.

These people need to not be in Will’s house as soon as humanly possible.

***

These are the facts: Will is losing his mind. They are going to wear him down. They are out of things to do and subjects to talk about, and all that remains to amuse them is this fucked up project of theirs: Let’s Fuck Will.

***

He has had a bit of whiskey after dinner, but not much. Freddie still deems it adequate enough for her to proceed. She enters his field of vision with confident steps and bouncing curls, stopping right in front of him and crossing her arms over her chest.

“If you don’t want to sleep with us, you should probably tell us now. Save all of us a lot of energy in the long run.” She makes it sound so simple, it almost makes Will laugh.

“When have I ever given you the impression that I _did_ want to sleep with you?”

Freddie shrugs, “You never outright complained about our arrangement, nor did you complain when you found out that we wanted you to join us.”

Will snorts, looking from her to Chilton – he is sitting on the couch, way out of the firing line, happy to let Freddie do all the talking. It’s probably for the best.

“I _hate_ you,” Will reminds her.

Freddie drops to her knees in front of his chair, a dangerous glint in her eyes and a razor sharp smile on her lips. “I know. That’s what makes it _good_.” She leans forward, putting her hands on Will’s knees and then sliding them up his thighs as she goes on. “Don’t you want to put me in my place?” Her eyes have gone completely dark. “Don’t you want to _fuck_ me?”

She puts on such a good show, Will almost gets drawn into it. Almost.

“You’re not gonna let me put you in your place. You’re not gonna let me fuck you. You wouldn’t let anyone do that, Freddie.” He leans forward until his nose almost touches Freddie’s and smiles. “You’re gonna fuck the both of us, that’s how this is gonna work if you get your way.”

“I always get my way,” Freddie says, her breath ghosting over Will’s lips.

“Not always.” He lets her lean in – she only brushes her lips across his before pulling back. It’s still enough to seal at least part of the deal.

“Most of the time I do,” she says and stands up. “Frederick.”

Chilton is still on the couch, staring at them with wide eyes, but he jerks to attention when Freddie motions at him.

“Get over here.” While he stands and moves towards them, Freddie grabs a hold of Will’s hand and pulls him to his feet. “Since you did not accept bargain number one, this is bargain number two.” She steps aside, puts her hands on Chilton’s shoulders and forcefully pushes him into position a couple of feet from Will.

“Bargain number two?” Will manages to ask simultaneous with Chilton, although Chilton is obviously more perturbed about it. Will is just confused.

“All right then. _Offer_.” Freddie stands on her tiptoes right behind Chilton, resting her chin on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his middle. “Trust me, you’re lucky that I’m willing to share loverboy here.” She turns her head, kissing the side of Chilton’s neck. He shivers. “So this really is a bargain.”

“People aren’t commodities to be shared, Freddie.”

“Just kiss him,” Freddie says.

For some reason, Will steps closer, and when Chilton moves close, he doesn’t pull away.

Chilton comes on strong in a flurry of hands, lips and tongue, kissing Will like he has been starving for it. It’s overwhelming and Will is almost about to stop him when Chilton does so himself. Or rather, Freddie has pulled him off.

“Easy there, tiger,” she whispers in Chilton’s ear, loud enough for Will to hear when he is standing so close. “He won’t go anywhere. Will you, Mr. Graham?”

“No,” Will says, and realizes that he means it.

The next kiss is softer, unhurried. Chilton lets Will take control, trusting him not to leave in the middle of it. While Will slides his tongue along Chilton’s bottom lip and Chilton sighs, lips parting in invitation, he starts to understand just how much Chilton must have wanted this. He should have seen this coming; Chilton is not a subtle man. Maybe Will ignored the signs and shut off Chilton’s emotions in order to avoid the truth.

“Are you thinking too much, Mr. Graham?” Freddie teases.

Will breaks the kiss, though the way Chilton sighs makes him want to resume it instantly. “Don’t call me Mr. Graham.”

Freddie shrugs, leans around Chilton and gives him a brief kiss. Her lips are softer than Chilton’s, so incredibly soft. Will wonders if she would ever suck him off. Maybe one day.

“Kiss him again.”

She slowly circles them while they kiss, her hands occasionally running down their backs, arms, neck and cheeks. Will should have known that Freddie would be a voyeur. He wonders what they look like, whether she can see tiny flashes of tongue or the way Chilton sucks on Will’s lower lip before gently biting it. He wonders if they kiss like this, if her hands always end up where Will’s are now, one in Chilton’s hair and one on his lower back.

“I think we should go upstairs,” Freddie says.

Will leaves one last soft kiss on Chilton’s lips before agreeing, “Okay.”

***

Freddie lies on her side next to him, naked, pressed so close against Will’s body that he feels like they’re slowly fusing together.

“You two will be the death of me,” Will says, hissing when Freddie pinches his nipple a bit too hard. He likes it. Not at much as the slick warmth around his cock, but it adds to it.

“Well,” she says conversationally, “If you would get off your ass and _catch_ Hannibal Lecter, we wouldn’t be here, now would we?”

‘Here’ being the bed in Will’s guest room. It’s not made for three but The Freds are making do with remarkable efficiency. Will hates to think that they’ve actually planned this right down to specific positions, but he wouldn’t put it past them all the same.

“I am working, it takes time, I’ll-”

Chilton abruptly pulls his mouth off Will’s dick. “Would you shut up about Hannibal Lecter, please?” he grumbles, eyes on Freddie and not sparing Will a single glance.

Freddie smiles. “A true artist needs silence to work,” she agrees, and although Chilton snorts at her comment, he looks ever so flattered as well. “Or at least less complaining.” She kisses Will, vicious and domineering, forcing him to fight back against her. During his distraction Chilton swallows him down almost to the root and adds a hint of teeth. Will forgets all about Freddie for a second.

So this is Chilton’s ultimate forte: oral sex. Applicable to both genders. Who would have thought?

He is so good in fact that Will lets himself fall back against the pillows and closes his eyes, his fingers itching to touch Chilton’s hair.

“You can grab a hold of him,” Freddie says, somehow reading his mind once again. “He likes it when you pull it a bit.” She reaches down and tangles her fingers in a fistful of Chilton’s hair, matching the rhythm he has already set, only forcing him a bit lower. Chilton moans, the vibrations sending a pleasant thrill up Will’s spine.

He takes over for her, marveling at the way he can guide Chilton just by touching his scalp with different amounts of force. He has almost managed to get lost in the feeling when...

“You don’t think you’re just gonna ignore me, are you Mr. Graham?”

Before he can reply, he finds himself straddled by Freddie’s thighs, her dark red pubic hair millimeters from his nose. He looks up, meeting her eyes between the valley of her breasts. Daring. Will is going to be damned if Chilton gets to be the uncrowned king of oral sex in Will’s own house.

Freddie’s rests her hands on the headboard. One of Will’s slide up to cup her right breast and the other one remains buried in Chilton’s hair. One of Chilton’s hands is on Will’s hip and the other... well Will can guess.

And so can Freddie. While Will tweaks her nipple between his fingertips and slowly runs his tongue through her slick folds (she is already wet, so very wet), she warns him, even as her voice shakes, “You’re not going to come until I have, Frederick.”

Chilton lets out a needy little whine as confirmation.

“And you’re not going to let Will come either.”

Knowing that is a powerful motivation to get her off, but Will is not about to rush either way. Instead of giving her his mouth as she expects, he moves to kiss and lick at her inner thigh instead, and when she moans, frustrated, Will smiles to himself.

“Will,” she says, demanding as always.

( _Yes, it’s me, the man you think is a psychopath, and I’m going to make you come on my tongue_ )

She watches his every upward lick through hooded eyes, slowly starting to pant. When Will slows his ministrations she bends at the hip to sink downwards and tries to pull his head up by his hair, shoving him towards her glistening lips.

“So we’re the only ones who have to be patient?”

“Shut up,” Freddie orders.

Will chuckles and carefully licks some of the fluid from her lips. She gasps, spreading her legs wider in invitation and at the same time lowering herself until Will barely needs to lift his head to reach her. She tastes slightly musky, but mild, and Will can see why Chilton doesn’t mind spending hours with that taste in his mouth.

Chilton’s mouth disappears from his cock, briefly replaced by his hand. “She tastes good, doesn’t she?” he asks roughly.

“Yes,” Will mutters, giving her another lick. His tongue circles her opening a few times before he pushes it inside as far as he can.

She rolls her hips, clutching his hair and puffing out a breath. “Frederick,” she says. “Suck him harder.”

Chilton does as she says and Will can’t contain a loud groan. The vibrations cause Freddie to do the same, and when Will turns his head to rubs his nose over her clit she tilts her head up and sighs happily.

“That’s it,” she mutters as Will licks up towards it. “Higher.”

Will swipes his tongue over her clit and her nails bite into his scalp through his hair. Will automatically does the same to Chilton, who moans around Will’s cock. If he wasn’t focused on Freddie he would have come in his mouth by now, despite Freddie’s warning. Will flattens his tongue and draws circles over her small, swollen nub. He repeats the move over and over and over again, and soon Freddie’s moans grow rasping and unrestrained. She’s so amazingly responsive, it’s easy to figure out what she wants.

It doesn’t take long for Freddie’s thighs to start shaking under the pressure of staying in the position she is in, and Will is forced to untangle his fingers from Chilton’s hair. He slowly runs them up the backs of a Freddie’s smooth thighs, pausing to briefly squeeze her ass and then moving his hands until he is holding her up, his thumbs stroking her hip bones while his fingertips dig into her flesh.

Will moves his tongue in short strokes from the top down and Freddie swears loudly, shudders and twists his hair. He settle into a quick lapping, giving her more pressure when she periodically pulls on his head.

“Fingers,” she demands.

“You need to hold yourself up a bit,” Will says into his folds, looking up at her.

Freddie nods absentmindedly, folding her arms over the headboard and moving just enough to allow Will to sink his middle finger into her. Her breath catches and she holds it until Will twists his finger and presses the right point while he pushes with his tongue; she arches powerfully and pulls at his hair.

"There. Faster, both of you. God, don't stop."

Will has no intention of stopping, not when his own orgasm is steadily building in his lower stomach as Chilton speeds up. Will swivels his tongue and slips his index finger in as well, curling them both with more power, pushing deeper and humming into Freddie’s clit.

“Fuck, yes.”

She yanks his hair, pushing back down against until she almost smothers him, and then she is coming hard around his hand. Her muscles pull and contract in waves as her voice rises in high floating moans and her legs threaten to buckle once more. Will does his best to prop her up with one hand as she slows and quiets to a huffing pant. He eases back carefully, pulling his mouth and fingers away when she releases his hair.

“You can come,” she says, and Will doesn’t care who she is referring to, because Chilton’s tongue has already put him on the edge, and it took all his self-control to get Freddie off first.

Freddie moves off him and turns, looking down at Chilton. “Let him come on your face.”

Will groans deep in his chest and when Chilton pulls off his cock it only takes a few strokes before Will’s orgasm hits him. He spills all over Chilton’s cheeks and chin, into his open mouth, and Chilton’s pleasured moan is just as loud as Will’s.

When Will finally manages to see straight again, Chilton is slowly licking his lips. He looks utterly debauched; his face is flushed, his hair is a mess, his pupils so wide his eyes seem almost black, and semen is slowly running down his chin, a drop rolling off at landing in his thigh – his hand is on his dick, but he is only stroking it lazily, and when Will looks closer he can tell that the head is wet with come as well. The realization that Chilton was moaning because he climaxed when Will came on his face has Will flopping back down on the bed with a pained whimper.

“This was a horrible idea,” he says.

“This was an excellent idea,” Freddie corrects him.

Will looks up to see Chilton drag his fingers through the mess on his face and suck them into his mouth, making the dirtiest noise of pleasure.

This was a horribly excellent idea.

***

Absolutely nothing changes. They still bicker constantly, all of them. Freddie writes and cooks, Chilton reads and drinks, and Will tries his best to hide the marks they leave on him from Hannibal, always showers for half an hour to get their scent off of him before he leaves the house.

The only difference is the sex.

Seeing as it is just sex with no emotional investment whatsoever, Will can’t see a problem with it.

(He turns his head when Freddie whispers something in Chilton’s ear and he smiles happily. He ignores the way his stomach flutters when Chilton kisses him. He leaves the house for hours when he accidentally strokes his fingers through Freddie’s hair as he walks behind her.)

***

“I think you should fuck him.”

“What?”

She looks at Will. She’s on her fourth glass of whiskey and her eyes are shining in the light from the fireplace. “You, should fuck – ” she turns to Chilton. “Him.”

When no one moves or responds to her frankly unexpected suggestion, she rolls her eyes. “Well not if you don’t want to,” she tells Will. “But he definitely wants you to.”

“Um, okay. And where do you fit into this?”

Freddie tilts her head and gives Will a coy little smirk. “I would like to watch.”

“So you just... watch?”

“Uh-huh.”

Will turns to Chilton. Freddie was right; he wants it. His eyes are wide and dark, his expression hopeful. His pants are tenting already.

How can Will say no to that?

***

Chilton is on all fours, moaning like the whore Freddie often insists that he is, shamelessly begging, “Come on, harder, fuck me harder, god Will I want your cock, _please_.”

“Wait.”

Will groans, reluctantly slowing down his thrusts until he stop altogether, ignoring Chilton’s pathetic whining noises.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Freddie announces, crawling onto the bed to join them.

“You want me to lick your pussy while he fucks me?” Chilton asks, voice strained. He may be somewhat reserved during foreplay, but once he gets going he is as crude as Freddie. Will finds that he loves it.

“No,” Freddie replies, crawling under Chilton’s body and lying back against the pillows. “I want you to fuck me while he fucks you.”

Will can’t see Chilton’s face, but judging from Freddie’s smirk, he must look as turned on as Will feels.

It takes some shuffling and shifting before Chilton can sink into her, both of them letting out a satisfied groan. “Let him take charge at first,” Freddie suggests, reaching down to stroke Will’s thigh.

Will nods, staying mostly still while Chilton pulls out of Freddie and impales himself on Will’s cock during the same motion. He makes a few experimental thrusts like that, breathing heavily into Freddie’s neck.

“Good?” she asks.

Chilton nods a few times. “Good.”

And it is good. After a minute or so Will starts moving as well and they find a rhythm, Will thrusting into Chilton, hard, driving him in Freddie in turn. He can only imagine what it must feel like for Chilton, to be filled by Will’s cock while driving into Freddie’s tight heat. Maybe next time Will can be in the middle.

For once, Freddie is generous. She must have sensed how close Chilton is, just as Will has; he is starting to falter in his rhythm, his hips snapping forwards harder than before, his moans are growing louder and more guttural. She can even see his face, see the way his brow furrows and his eyes fall shut, how he bites his bottom lip. Will loves the way he looks when he is close.

“It’s okay, Frederick,” Freddie says. “You can come.”

Will is still amazed at the amount of self-control she has instilled in him. It only takes a minute – a minute where Chilton speeds up and Will accommodates him the best he can, a minute where dirty words start falling from his lips again, _fuck, you’re so tight, so beautiful, god yes, Will, I love your cock, please fuck me, faster, harder, just like that_ \- and then Chilton shudders, muffling his loud cries by burying his face in Freddie’s neck.

She gently strokes his back while he rides it out, making little shushing noises that makes Will gather that Chilton’s climax was more overwhelming than usual. A tiny, wet sob confirms his suspicion.

Without a word, Will leans down and wraps his arms around Chilton’s chest, pulling him upwards. He briefly strokes Freddie’s knee as a way of apology for leaving her suddenly empty, but she doesn’t complain. Instead she watches with keen eyes while Will sits back on his heels and brings Chilton with him, settling them so Chilton is sitting in his lap with his knees astride Will’s thighs. Will hugs him close, kissing the nape of his neck, the side of his throat, keeps one arm tightly wrapped around Chilton’s chest and brings his other hand up to wipe away the single tear he finds rolling down Chilton’s cheek.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts fucking up into him, and Chilton responds by arching his back and flexing his thighs, lifting himself up in time with Will’s shallow trusts. Will’s fingers locate his scar and he gently caresses it, making Chilton sigh with satisfaction (he likes it when they touch his scar – it’s sensitive, and their soft touches are a contrast to how he got it).

Chilton turns his head, seeking out Will’s lips, and Will does not keep him waiting, kissing him as deeply as he can at this angle. A high-pitched moan draws his attention to Freddie. She is touching herself, her fingers circling her clit with practiced efficiency. She is not teasing herself, she is getting herself off.

“Keep going,” she says, her voice unsteady.

Will complies, picking up speed again, quickly finding himself hurtling towards the edge. He kisses Chilton again, a sloppy mess of teeth and tongues, until he has to break away to breathe. Chilton’s head drops back to rest on Will’s shoulder and Will automatically licks along the length of his throat, tasting sweat and expensive cologne. He comes like that, mouthing at Chilton’s neck, holding him close. Through the rush of his orgasm, he hears Freddie let out a strangled cry.

When he is empty and boneless, Chilton crawls out of his lap and turns around to kiss him properly, a deep and affectionate kiss. Then he lies down to join Freddie, giving her an equally warm kiss.

Will is starting to wonder how this ‘no-emotions’ things is working out for him.

***

The first time Will wakes up he smells flowers. He tries to turn his head, but his body won’t move. Slowly, he starts to register something besides the steady beeping of machines through the haze of exhaustion and morphine; Chilton’s voice. His tone is calm and soothing, steady. The words slowly start to make sense. It’s Thoreau’s _Walden_. Will wants to smile, wants to tell Chilton that he can hear him now, but his lips won’t move either. He lets Chilton’s comforting voice lull him back into a dream-less sleep.

The next time he wakes up, his head feels clearer. Freddie’s voice is reading to him now; it’s a detailed, if sensationalized, description of Hannibal’s arrest, no doubt from her up-coming book. When she finishes Chilton’s voice joins hers, making suggestions to possible changes.

“I found a publisher,” Freddie tells him. “All I’m missing is Will’s side of the story.”

“They say he might wake up soon.”

 _I am awake_ Will thinks. It’s frustrating, being stuck in this twilight state between sleep and consciousness. At least he isn’t alone.

On the day Will finally manages to open his eyes, the only sound in the room is fast tapping on a keyboard. He looks to the right. Freddie is sitting cross-legged in a chair next to his hospital bed, her laptop balanced on her knees.

“Afraid someone else will beat you to you source?” Will asks. His throat hurts and his voice sounds rough from disuse.

Freddie doesn’t even jump, she simply looks up at him, unimpressed. “You can never be too careful. You’re my most important source, after all.”

Will smiles wryly. “It’s nice to have someone who cares.”

Freddie’s expression softens. “How do you feel then?”

“Like I’ve been gutted with a linoleum knife.”

Freddie snorts. “Right. Let me know once you’re ready for some interviews.”

“Give him a few days, woman.”

Chilton is standing in the door with a cup of coffee in his hand. He appears pleased, genuine affection in his eyes when he looks at Will. “How are you-”

“Like he’s been stabbed,” Freddie interrupts. “Weirdly enough.” She closes her laptop, turning all her attention to Will. Her eyes are sharp, accusatory. “What would you have done if we hadn’t called the police when you ran off? They arrived literally the second Lecter stepped out of his front door. Alana’s call was too late, and the FBI are useless. Did you know they wanted to arrest Frederick when they found us at your house? He was still wanted for the Ripper murders!”

“If it weren’t for you, he would have gotten away?”

“You’re fucking welcome, by the way.”

Chilton walks over and puts a hand on Freddie’s shoulder. She slumps over a bit, her anger dissipating. “It doesn’t matter now. He’s been caught.”

“He killed Abigail,” Freddie says softly. Her eyes are wet. “I’m so sorry, Will.”

Will closes his eyes, shuts her out. He can’t add her grief to his own right now.

“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Chilton says, hand briefly touching Will’s forearm.

Then they’re gone and Will is left alone for the first time in weeks.

***

His house feels empty now. No one arguing over insignificant trivialities, no one complaining about the dogs, no one drinking all his whiskey.

Will should be grateful for the peace and quiet but instead he just feels lonely.

Three days after he is discharged, the dogs suddenly perk up around dinner time, all of them barking and rushing to the door.

Outside on the porch are The Freds, Chilton holding a bottle of wine and Freddie a large pot of something that smells unmistakably like the soup she cooked for them the first night he let her cook.

“Surprise,” Freddie says, already pushing past him to enter the house. “Your Freds are back.”

Will steps aside to let Chilton pass as well. The other man steals a small kiss when they brush against one another. “How did you know I...”

“Frederick refers to us as The Freds, I figured you’d be equally unimaginative.” Freddie puts down the pot and points to the kitchen. “Plates, Frederick, if you please.”

“I thought about calling you Fred Squared,” Will says, a bit proud of that idea.

Freddie snaps her fingers. “Good one, I wish I’d thought of that.”

Chilton has foregone plates in favor of opening the wine.

“You know I’m on painkillers, I can’t drink.”

“Oh, we know,” Chilton says. “This is for us.”

Will narrows his eyes. “I can’t have sex either. I can barely walk.”

“Oh, honey, _we know_ ,” Freddie coos. “Doesn’t mean you can’t watch though.”

“Or cuddle,” Chilton suggests. He fills two glasses and hands one to her.

Freddie shrugs. “How about both?”

They stand ready to click glasses, giving Will expectant looks. He rolls his eyes. “Both. Both would be... nice.”

The glasses sing and The Freds smile at one another, then at him, and it’s all very strange and very wonderful at the same time.

 

The End


End file.
